


Share & Enjoy

by Predatrix



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Weird POV, shared sensation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 12:58:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5457305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Predatrix/pseuds/Predatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kinkmeme fill for "shared pleasure" spell Norrell casts on Childermass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Share & Enjoy

"Never cast that spell again!" gasped Childermass, with what little breath he had left.

"No!" said Mr Norrell. Childermass noticed his master was in an even worse state himself and in such a sweat he wanted a bath but didn't have the strength to move.

"It was wonderful!" said Childermass, panting like a bellows.

"Yes!" said Mr Norrell, resting his head on Childermass's shoulder, which made Childermass feel oddly little and safe and protected--by himself?

"So take it off!" said Childermass.

"Oh!" said Mr Norrell, and Childermass felt a sudden itchiness from being alone inside his own skin before the feeling settled.

"Don't take this the wrong way, sir, but 'once in a lifetime' is definitely enough for that," said Childermass.

"Quite!" said Mr Norrell.

Childermass had started it. In a quiet moment, neither busy nor making mock of his master, he had asked curiously, "Don't you have any spells for having fun?" and Mr Norrell went quiet and started writing.

When Childermass looked through the list, he felt a little sad at how un-Norrell-ish it seemed. "So this is your list of entertainments? Party games, hunting and dances?"

"I am reliably informed, by those who like 'fun', that this is the way of having it, said Mr Norrell. "My uncle was very definite upon the point, and that there was no use in me sitting around the place like a Friday-faced misery."

Childermass said, "I know for a fact that's not the sort of thing you enjoy. You like a winter afternoon with a hot cup of chocolate to drink, a chair by the roaring fire, no letters to answer, and a book to pick holes in, or a spell to chase up."

"Well, yes."

"And you like laying out exactly the right bits and pieces in the right places, no using dried for fresh, making sure your blade's well-whetted for anything to cut, never adding in an unnecessary _florilegium_ or too many candles."

Mr Norrell nodded.

"And you like that nice soft night-shirt you have, and your bed-socks and little cap, and your coverlet all tucked in just so, and not the sharpest winter wind can ever make its way to you."

"Yes, Childermass, I find those things quite pleasing."

"And you like a nice warm bath, sweet-scented on occasion, and when you come out all pink and fresh, you let me rub you all over with a soft towel, and you're looking at me like you want me to..."

"Childermass!" hissed Mr Norrell crossly.

"Like you want me to do those other things you like," said Childermass imperturbably.

 

"Childermass?" said Mr Norrell, a little later.

"Yes?"

"I was looking up those other matters, as you suggested."

"Sir?"

"Most of them seem to be very oddly-regulated, Childermass. There is a constant harping on...ladies."

"I believe that to be the general preference, sir," said Childermass patiently, wondering if Mr Norrell was the only man in the world never to have noticed that.

"And many magicians appear to concern themselves with quantities of people. It is such a _very_ un-respectable business that I could only bring myself to approach one person I trusted," said Mr Norrell, a little plaintively.

Childermass put his hand on his master's shoulder, and squeezed gently.

"And one of these intimate spells involves a dog!"

"Might I suggest, sir, not to do that one."

Mr Norrell went very quiet. Childermass asked him whether he needed help deciding, but Mr Norrell said he was working on getting the proper safeguards in place. "I may want to try this, but I don't want either or both of us getting a syncope or an apoplexy if we get over-excited."

Childermass was a little shocked. He couldn't tell whether it was at all likely or an example of Mr Norrell's cautiousness with...everything. But he might as well encourage it, he decided on his way out to a bookshop.

When he came back several days later, after a good wash to get the pervasive hint of Brewer out of his clothes and hair, he went to the library. Evidently the safety-spells had taken most of that time, because Mr Norrell was apparently just sorting out his ingredients.

But the spell was definitely almost "live"; the air prickled with salty-sharp energy. It smelt blue and tasted of lightning.

The flower-stems were a slimy green paste; something sweet was mixed into warmed sweet oil; the smoothed tallow was dark from being mixed with something, probably soot; and the rabbit's skull was blackened and next to a pestle and mortar.

Childermass sniffed appreciatively. "That's nice, that. Not often you get your spells to smell good enough to eat."

"Cinnamon, apple and ginger," said Mr Norrell, who apparently didn't mind questions on the less-magical end of his work. He pounded the rabbit's skull to a fine powder and added that to the soft dark grease.

"Time for bed," said Mr Norrell, and Childermass followed him to the bedroom, where Mr Norrell secured the door and cast a spell of silence, or un-noticeability, or however it worked.

They undressed.

Mr Norrell marked them at eye and heart and groin with the greasy stuff. It melted into the skin.

"What does this _actually do?"_ said Childermass mistrustfully. He disliked spells one couldn't back out of easily.

Instead of answering, Mr Norrell dragged him in front of the fire and tried to pull him down, almost beginning to climb him, muttering, "come on, come _on!"_ between kisses, the way he so often did when Childermass had been away.

"Now, sir, calm down a bit," said Childermass, as usual--and collapsed, almost folding in half as a wave of ecstatic feeling hit him. It was remarkably like being a boy again, when nothing was as important as satisfying the ache, the itch of it. 

_That_ was when Mr Norrell, who never minded explaining how clever he'd been, panted heavily and then said, "Shared sensation. That is what the spell does. Shared pleasure."

Childermass thought, _No wonder he spent days on safety-features--this thing could be bloody lethal without!_ and another wave of need crashed over him.

"Is this how you feel?" he said in a hushed voice. "Is this how it is for you every time?"

"Mostly," said Mr Norrell, who was evidently more composed with an element of Childermass's own steadiness. "Not always, but whenever you've been away for a while and I start to feel I'll explode if I don't have you soon."

"At your age!" said Childermass, marvelling.

Mr Norrell looked slightly cross. "Well, it's not as if I'm in the habit of practicing when you're not there. It doesn't seem worth the trouble." He led them to the bed and lay down.

"Well, let me sort you out first, then," said Childermass, and took Mr Norrell in his mouth, and...suddenly--the _size_ of a mouth opening around his own prick was so overwhelming, he was so straight-down-the-throat in a way he never had been before, that he nearly choked and nearly came at once. Mr Norrell wheezed for breath, and gently opened Childermass's jaws and pushed him backwards.

Childermass tried to do it again, but Mr Norrell refused.

"You don't _usually_ object!" Childermass panted, wanting that gorgeous slippery mouth (could it really be just an echo of his own?) to slide back over him.

Mr Norrell said, "You're not usually at risk of getting over-excited with your teeth round me," and reached into the bedside-table drawer for a jar of something.

Childermass muttered, ill-tempered, that a handful of grease wasn't much in comparison with a mouth.

"No," said Mr Norrell with dignity, "but this is the _good_ grease."

Childermass sighed and took a handful. It was odd, slightly-warm in the hand, smelt softly of spices. He slapped it around Mr Norrell's prick, and his hand took on an effortless gliding stroke, and just kept going. More of that, more! He could just soak it up this way. Both of them groaned with ecstasy as Childermass added that little twist at the tip he usually couldn't be arsed to bother with on his own account. This time he knew _exactly_ how much such a tiny detail was taking Norrell apart. Suddenly soft delicate fingertips were tugging at his nipples. A refinement he associated with women, except he was suddenly thrusting into that hand that (was/was not) his, with the prick that (was not/was) his, and he shouted, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, _yes!"_ and Norrell convulsed under him, and it was rather like reaching a climax in two pricks at once, and it would never-stop never-stop never-stop and--stopped.

Once the last aftershock had eased, he reached for a hankie and gently cleaned Norrell's face where the first wild gout of his seed had almost caught him in the eye.

"I think that is the good grease," Childermass agreed. "I've no idea how you manage not to frig yourself if you've got something feels that nice."

Mr Norrell hid his face in the pillow and muttered something in which the words "most unsatisfactory" were vaguely to be heard, then he flung his arms round Childermass, who managed to piece together that such activity might satisfy Norrell's eager prick, but would do nothing whatsoever to fill the empty spaces in his arse and his arms.

Childermass shifted restlessly. He was unused to the feeling, a low ache in his balls, as if all was to do again, when they were but a moment past satisfaction.

"Good idea," said Mr Norrell, "lie down." Then Mr Norrell put some of the good grease on his own hand, then reached for him.

Childermass's brain went white inside his eyes; the shock of jolting back inside his own skin at the point of ecstasy speared him; he forced his eyes open and saw Mr Norrell making helpless noises without the breath to speak. And the hand, that small--bold--shaking hand, drew it all from him as he flooded out. 

He was all sweat and seed, drenched and exhausted. He could not speak. There was a little smile on Mr Norrell's face. They fell together into a doze, and Childermass whined a little: he always enjoyed watching Mr Norrell sleep, rather than being dragged with him.

 

They woke up. Norrell must have been in the lead there; it was slow and satisfied and languid, rather than his own calmly-alert way of checking what needed to be done. Then Norrell put his arms up for a cuddle, and he thought _that's me: he's the one would usually stop to wipe up first,_ and settled the pair of them. 

They woke up again later, and this time Mr Norrell _did_ complain about being sticky. Mind, he also complained about Childermass getting up to clean them up: with their attention "stuck together" Norrell found himself dragged across the room for a wet cloth when what he wanted was to go back to sleep. Childermass yawned happily as a stray fraction of Mr Norrell's doziness clung to him, but he obediently wiped-up and returned to bed.

He was a bit shocked that Norrell chose that moment to get demanding.

"Now, sir, you know you've had your two turns," he said.

Mr Norrell said, "I think you'll find that was one apiece," and groped him, which shouldn't have had as much of an effect as it did.

"Well, _technically,"_ Childermass admitted, "but be reasonable." There was a peculiar restless tension around his hindquarters, almost distracting him from the erection he'd no business having at all.

"I'm perfectly reasonable asking for the rest of it," said Mr Norrell. He lay on his back, legs wide open, making a whore's display of it as he stroked into his own arse and phantom fingers invaded Childermass's backside in turn.

Childermass said something. It didn't have any words in it.

Mr Norrell said something rather breathless. Childermass didn't know whether it had any words in it either. Rather surprised he hadn't fallen out of bed, Childermass lay still and just _took_ it, which felt even better.

Mr Norrell removed his hand. "Well, really, Childermass, I only wanted to ask you for the rest of it. I had no intention of making you lose the power of speech."

"Didn't!" said Childermass. He thought. "Nearly!"

"I suppose you haven't done that before," said Mr Norrell.

"I have. Don't like it much."

Mr Norrell looked upset.

"At the moment, I'm getting what _you_ feel," explained Childermass, "and you love it." 

It was inconveniently-delicious, every tiny little rub of fingertips or long stroke of fingers threatened to distract them, one particular place inside was astonishingly effective to rub...Childermass was no longer surprised Mr Norrell liked to be buggered, he was beginning to wonder why he ever did anything _else_ if it felt like this.

After quite a lot of preparation, they were ready to ride. Childermass groaned a little as he went in. 

Mr Norrell was pouring sweat, and sobbing, and Childermass knew exactly how it felt, because there was a sudden hot smooth squeeze around his prick, at the same time as he felt its blunt brute head nudging into his own guts, and the doubled sensation made him sweat and swear. 

If he hadn't known very well what Mr Norrell liked he doubted he'd have had the control, but it was just enough, four or five long fierce strokes, and they came so hard--both of them _so hard_ \--it was like being turned inside out and then being washed up on the wreck of themselves.

That, of course, was when they'd agreed never to do it again.

* * * * *

"Maybe just once in a while?" said Norrell the next morning.

_"No,_ sir," said Childermass, thinking: _one of us ought to have a bit of sense._

"For a special treat?"

"Only if you modify it considerably, sir," said Childermass firmly.

"That's all right then," said Mr Norrell, and went to sleep on his shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> The most awkward thing was the title. The working title was "Never Again Maybe", but that spoils the joke of knowing at the outset that it was so extreme they never wanted to do it again, and finding at the end that after a good night's sleep Norrell rather fancies trying it again sometime... Eventually I picked up a Douglas Adams reference which fits well enough (if one allows for the complete absence of Sirius Cybernetics Corps).
> 
> I try to hold POV rigidly--some writers are more cinematic, but because I don't visualise half as well as I do dialogue or voice, I use interior monologue and an attempt to follow what the character can see, hear or feel to fix things in place. It was a fun exercise to break that intentionally!


End file.
